


Tangled Roots

by Kumikirin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, College AU, Friends to Strangers to Friends Again, M/M, OtaYuri Reverse Bang, also some texting bc texting is nice, enjoy some Platonic OtaYuri, plus Meddling Mila, plus background, plus cute kids, plus some Yuri-angst bc why not, this is just 18.8k of them being awkward around each other, this is just platonic heh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kumikirin/pseuds/Kumikirin
Summary: “Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that.”Where Yuri and Otabek meet as kids, separate and then reunite several years later to find that their friendship might be damaged, but never dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to our ([Linni-T](https://linni-t.tumblr.com/) and [KumiKirin](http://kumikirin.tumblr.com/)) submission for the OtaYuri Reverse Bang! I must admit it was challenging, to say the least, writing while at the same time trying to not fail any of my midterms and projects. But I did it! And it turned out so long I had to split it in four chapters (I did it in two at first but since I've had so many people kinda complaining about my long writing I figured why not make it easier for everyone). Almost 19k, my dudes. I suffered through it but it was a great experience ❤ and I'm glad I got to write for Lin's fanart because, as you will see at the end of the second chapter, it's amazing!
> 
> Special shout out to my friend [seaworn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seaworn/pseuds/seaworn), who was there with me all the way, cheering me on (and was coincidentally the one who told me about the Reverse Bang, so go check her submissions!). And, of course, thanks to Lin for making such amazing art and giving me inspiration to write so much, I fell in love with it and I'm glad I got to pick it for this collab ❤ (not to mention she's really cool to talk to and epic supportive about all my problems regarding lack of time and other shit, so kudos to her).

A blond kid plays alone at the park, his small feet sinking a little into the fresh layer of snow. The first snow of the season, and it’s all his. Well, and grandpa’s, of course. Yuri turns around and waves at him, the old man returning the gesture from his spot sitting on the old stone bench. It’s probably wet and cold from the snow they had to shake from it, but his grandpa brought a thick blanket to sit on so he’ll be alright. Yuri turns around again and keeps walking steadily, or as steadily as the snow allows him.

Grandpa says he used to come play here with mama, before she left, but he’s not sure he remembers much of it.

The park is pretty silent, but that’s natural since the sun started to rise just some minutes ago. The golden rays of sun are just peeking behind the buildings, falling between the naked branches of the trees covered in white, and casting long, bluish shadows over the pristine snow. The sky is blue but the clouds are white and gold. It’s early, too early for Yuri, but grandpa always wakes up too early and he’s alright with waking up with him. He likes being with grandpa and he likes the thick silence of the morning. Those minutes before the city wakes up are somewhat nice, so different from when mama was still around, and Yuri feels some kind of power in knowing he’s awake while everyone else sleeps.

It’s cold, but not really that much in his opinion, and yet grandpa has bundled him up in thick layers of clothes, with mittens and a scarf and a hat that’s a little too big for him so it keeps falling over to one side. Maybe that’s why he didn’t see the boy right from the start, the one playing silently with the snow under a tree. He’s surprised to find he isn’t alone, when he turns around while fixing his hat once again so it doesn’t fall over his right eye, and right after the surprise comes the disappointment. He wanted to be the first one playing with the new snow and he and his grandpa had woken up _extra early_ that morning just for that. So why is this boy already here too?

Yuri puffs his cheeks behind his red scarf and picks up some snow, balling it just enough so he can throw it without it falling apart. It hits the black-haired boy on his left arm, and that makes him look up from whatever he’s doing with the snow —Yuri’s no expert in snow building but it doesn’t look like a snowman at all so he’s at a loss—. The boy stares at him for a second and then looks back down, and keeps molding the snow and Yuri’s little body boils, offended. So, he makes another snowball and throws it at him again, and this time the boy looks up and sits straight and under the golden light of the morning Yuri can see his dark eyes shine under the sun, becoming a color Yuri thinks is similar to the coffee grandpa drinks every morning. There are too many blue and green and generally _light_ eyes around here, so that chocolate brown is a nice change, and for a moment he finds it curious and somewhat enchanting.

Then the boy frowns at him and Yuri remembers he’s angry.

He bends down to pick up some more snow to throw again, but stops when his mitten-clad hands are barely sinking in the soft snow, surprised by a cold hit to his shoulder. He looks up without moving much, still bent down, and finds his rival looking at him with an unreadable expression. Not that Yuri can see much, since the boy has half his face hidden behind his own scarf.

Before he knows it, they’re engaged in a snowball fight that Yuri labels as _fight to death._ The winner gets the title of First to play with the new snow, it’s just fair.

They run to hide behind trees and the snow-covered playground things, all while picking snow and throwing balls trying to hit each other. The other boy is taller than him, like a whole head taller, Yuri notices as soon as he stands up. He sounded older too, so that’s normal, he thinks. His skin is a couple of shades darker, like everything else in him, but Yuri doesn’t think much of it.

Eventually, he gets tired. He stops to catch his breath and stares at the other boy, not wanting to give him a chance for a surprise attack even though he’s leaning on his knees and breathing out white puffs of air too. They’ve been running around for years and there’s still no clear winner. Yuri’s mad. He stomps his foot on the snow once he’s regained the ability to correctly push air into his lungs.

“I don’t want to fight with you anymore, it’s no fun!” he protests. “The snow is mine, get your own park.”

The older boy is already frowning again, looking at Yuri from up there, and suddenly Yuri wants to kick his knees and make him fall so he’ll be the one looking from above.

“I thought we were playing,” the boy says then, and it’s Yuri’s turn to frown because _of course not_ , why would he think they were playing? Also, Yuri just told him to get out of his park, so why isn’t he doing that?

Yuri purses his lips against the inside of his scarf. It’s itchy and makes his skin red, and he doesn’t like it but it’s the only one he’s got and grandpa says he’ll get sick if he doesn’t wear it, and he doesn’t like being sick.

“No, we were _fighting_ ,” Yuri clarifies, because his rival is apparently too dumb to understand on his own so he’ll just have to spell it out for him.

The boy looks confused.

“I wasn’t fighting,” he says. But of course he was, did he not notice?

“But you looked angry, you frowned at me,” Yuri insists, balling his tiny fists at his sides. What does he have to say for this boy to understand what fighting means? There are a lot of things he doesn’t remember, but there’s one he does and that’s mama’s angry face. When she frowned, Yuri knew she was angry at him. And she frowned a lot. “And angry people fight.”

“I didn’t frown at you,” the boy retorts, and comically enough his eyebrows are drawn together by his practically ever present frown.

“You did,” Yuri insists, pointing at his furrowed brow like it’s irrefutable proof that he’s right.

The boy seems unfazed by the accusing finger, barely sparing it a glance before returning his eyes to Yuri.

“No, I didn’t,” he counters, and before Yuri can repeat himself he goes on, “I was just looking at you, but you were standing right in front of the sun and it was too bright.”

_Oh._

“... oh,” Yuri’s thoughts usually come out his mouth unfiltered, right after they pop in his head. He lowers his hand slowly until it’s hanging limp against his side again. “So, we weren’t fighting.”

“No,” the boy shakes his head to emphasize.

“Oh,” Yuri repeats, frowning and looking slightly down in confusion, not quite understanding how he got it all wrong from the very start. “But I wanted to be the first one to play with the snow.”

The boy seems to take a moment to consider those words.

“Is that why you started throwing snowballs?” he asks, and Yuri nods furiously while still looking at the snow rather than at him. The boy hums and takes another moment before speaking up again. “We were both playing with the snow, so we can be both the first ones,” he offers, and Yuri tilts his head to one side and finally looks up.

“Can we do that?”

“I think so?” he sounds a little unsure, frown still in place as he looks slightly up like he’s trying to remember if that’s an actual rule about the first snow of the season. “Mom says sharing makes things better and I had more fun playing with you than playing alone.”

Yuri stops to think about that. He always plays alone since he doesn’t really have friends. Grandpa says he had a friend before, she lived in the same building they do, but she moved; as many other things, Yuri doesn’t remember.

“If we had been fighting, you would have won,” the boy concedes, after a while of just staring at the small blond while he thinks silently. Yuri looks up at him, suddenly noticing he maybe had fallen silent for too long. “You’re like a soldier.”

“I am?” The boy nods. Yuri considers it and decides he likes that. “I am.”

Silence settles between them once more, just that this time they’re staring into each other’s eyes like they’re not sure of what’s supposed to come next, and thus are waiting for the other to make a move.

Eventually, the older boy gets tired of waiting and tugs his scarf down, revealing the rest of his face.

“So, are you gonna be friends with me or not?” he asks.

The question takes Yuri by surprise. A cold breeze blows and moves the thinnest branches, and some snow falls to the ground somewhere but Yuri keeps his green eyes on the dark ones staring back at him behind locks of black hair. The boy, after a moment, stretches his hand and leaves it hanging there in the air between them. Yuri looks at it now, confused, until he gets it. He looks back at those dark eyes, and then nods and takes his hand, shaking it as firmly as he can.

Grandpa taught him that’s how big men make business.

“Darling, it’s time to go!” the woman that had been sitting in the background watching them play is now standing and waving a hand in their direction. Yuri’s new friend turns around and waves back to signal he heard her, then looks back at Yuri.

“I have to go. We have to pick up dad and my sister from the airport,” he explains, even though Yuri didn’t ask for it. Yuri nods again.

They just became friends and he already has to go, that’s not nice. Yuri finds out he’s a little disappointed, but since they’re friends now that means they’ll meet soon again, right? He’s pretty sure that’s how friends work.

The boy turns around and walks up to his mother —Yuri guesses she’s his mother—, so he does the same and walks back to where his grandpa is listening to some guy talking through an old, tiny radio he always takes with him when they come to play at the park.

“I see you made a friend, Yuratchka?” his grandpa greets him with a pat on the shoulder, and Yuri nods enthusiastically.

“Yes, grandpa. Can we come again tomorrow? Maybe he’ll be here,” he asks, hopeful.

Grandpa smiles that big smile of his.

“Of course we can,” he agrees, fixing his grandson’s scarf. “What’s your friend’s name?”

Yuri stops squirming —grandpa’s fingers are cold against the skin of his cheeks— and suddenly his eyes go all wide.

He doesn’t know that. He didn’t ask.

He turns around and sprints towards the boy, who’s already getting in the car with his mother. He manages to catch his attention by flinging his tiny arms around and yelling at him to wait, and maybe the fact that everything’s still somewhat silent helps.

“Yes?” the boy asks, getting out of the car while his mother starts it to let it heat up.

“What’s your name?” Yuri asks, his ragged breath coming out in puffs of white mist. “I’m Yuri.”

The boy looks taken aback, like he’s just realized that very tiny but very important detail.

“Yuri,” he repeats, like he’s trying the feel of it on his tongue, and nods at the same time. “I’m Otabek.”

“Otabek?” Yuri tilts his head to the side. He’s never heard that name. “That’s a weird name,” he says without even thinking to filter his thoughts. “You’re not from here, right? You speak weird.”

Maybe he’s called him weird too many times now, because Otabek’s pursing his lips a little, and Yuri remembers this thing about being polite and feels compelled to add something so his new friend won’t unfriend him so soon.

“I like weird things.”

He can at least say he tried.

“We’re from Kazakhstan,” Otabek answers instead, still frowning. Yuri briefly wonders if he ever stops doing that, before the car door behind Otabek is opened by his mother, who’s stretching into the passenger’s seat.

“Darling, dad just called me to say they arrived a few minutes ago. We shouldn’t keep them waiting,” she looks like she wants to go, and Yuri feels both embarrassed for holding them back and slightly mad because _he’s talking with his new friend_ , can’t she see? Then she looks at Yuri and smiles a soft, warm smile, and Yuri blinks a couple of times and wonders where did his anger go. “Hi, sweetheart, are you Otabek’s new friend? What’s your name?"

Yuri thought they were in a hurry, so why is she wasting time talking to him?

Still, he answers.

“Yuri,” he repeats, a little shy but not enough to not ask an important question. “Will you come back tomorrow? I want to play again,” and he looks at Otabek to ask for support.

He probably doesn’t need to, because the woman’s smile grows and the corners of her eyes crinkle a little.

“Well, nice to meet you, Yuri. I’m Otabek’s mother,” she introduces herself, “and yes, of course we can come back tomorrow.”

That’s all he needs to know for now, then.

“Yuratchka?”

“Grandpa!” Yuri greets the man that’s come up to them, much slower than him because of age. “They’re coming back tomorrow so we can play.”

“Oh, that’s good,” the old man smiles that affable, big smile that makes his eyes look almost closed. “Then I guess we’ll have to come too, right?”

Yuri nods enthusiastically.

His grandpa and Otabek’s mom introduce themselves and Yuri stretches his hand towards Otabek. They have to properly say goodbye this time.

“Let’s play tomorrow too?”

Otabek nods, takes his hand and shakes it.

A minute later, when Yuri and his grandpa are watching Otabek’s car fading in the distance, Yuri remembers.

“Ah,” he tugs his grandpa’s hand to get his attention, “his name is Otabek.”

 

•  
•

It doesn’t take long for them to become practically inseparable. They start off meeting at the park, and while they play Yuri’s grandpa and Otabek’s parents talk. Sometimes Otabek’s little sister, Ayzere, comes too.

Within the first month of Winter, Yuri learns a lot about Otabek. Otabek’s family came to Moscow because of work reasons, but he was born in Almaty, as well as his sister. His parents are Aldiyar and Inzhu, and Inzhu’s going to have another baby in some months, and they can’t have any pets because his Aldiyar’s allergic to fur. Come the end of January, he’s being invited to his house to play and then to stay the night. Otabek’s family is nice to him and they invite his grandpa for dinner sometimes too, and Yuri feels a little embarrassed he doesn’t have much more to show Otabek than his grandpa, their old car and their tiny house, but he’s still happy he has a friend now. Otabek never says anything about how little people Yuri has in his life, and he doesn’t complain either when they have to share a bed the first time he stays the night. Grandpa promises he’ll get a spare mattress for the next occasion.

Otabek asks about his parents once, but when Yuri says they’re not with him Otabek accepts it and doesn’t ask more. Yuri’s glad he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have answers for more questions than that.

Before winter ends they’ve already given each other nicknames, and they never go back to calling each other by their actual names.

Yuri turns six and he gets a visit from Beka’s family, and a nice gift that his grandpa wouldn’t be able to buy for him. It’s the first birthday in two years that he’s spent with more people than his grandpa and the nice lady from the next-door apartment, who always brings him a cake and lets him pet her cat. His grandpa’s pirozhki run out terribly soon but the neighbour quickly makes something else for them to eat while Yuri plays with Beka and Ayzere —the cat had to stay at the lady’s house because of Beka’s father’s allergy—. They sing him happy birthday and he blows his blue candle and finds this year he doesn’t wish his parents would come back as hard as he did on past years. He’s happy.

By the end of spring, Beka’s new sibling is born. Another girl, the first Russian in the family. They name her Aigerim and let Yuri hold her, and he does even if he’s terrified of dropping her. He doesn’t. He also meets two of Beka’s aunts, and a couple of days later he visits the house to find it full of people with the same weird accent his friend has. Beka sure has a big family. It’s another weird thing, but Yuri doesn’t say anything about it.

Summer rolls around and Beka and his family leave for Almaty for the first time since they met. Yuri misses his friend, so grandpa suggests he makes Beka a gift, and so he does. Beka comes back two weeks later to a palm-sized kitten made of carboard and painted with crayons. Yuri’s not that happy with how it turned out, but Beka smiles and thanks him and says he’s gonna take care of it. They decide it’s a boy and name it Simba.

When autumn comes, Yuri starts primary school and, on the first day, immediately spots Beka and runs up to him to hug him. He had, of course, begged grandpa to enrol him in the same school Beka went to, so they could be together. Of course, because of the two-and-a-half year difference, it doesn’t really go according to plan. They still see each other at breaks and when they leave school, though, and that’s just enough.

The following years find them growing up together. They spend weekends in each other’s company, have sleepovers even during the week, come up with their own inside jokes and develop habits and rituals, some of which change with time while others stay the same through the years. They play outside during summer and go camping with Yuri’s grandpa, and Otabek’s family takes them to a water park during one especially hot Summer, and during winter they stay inside and play games and watch movies. They go to the cinema so often they run out of movies to watch, and they try to learn to cook together but end up confusedly watching the dry spaghetti burn —they didn’t know they had to push them _fully_ into the water. Otabek helping Yuri with his homework is a thing that keeps rather constant in time, though Yuri becomes more and more independent, to the point he doesn’t really need it but still asks for help just because he likes it. They never miss a birthday and Beka’s family kind of adopts Yuri in a way, or at least that’s how he feels because they treat him like he’s one of them, and Yuri’s never had that so he gets to experience the joy and the bothers of having a big family. And by family he means all of them; Otabek’s aunts and uncles, cousins, sisters, parents, everyone is so nice to him he can’t help but feel he’s part of them.

“You’re my best friend, Beka,” Yuri says one lazy Sunday afternoon during April. Beka hums and nods, which Yuri’s come to recognize as a form of agreement. “Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

“Of course,” Beka says at that. “Bestest best friends.”

Yuri beams, immediately catching on the reference to one of his favourite movies ever.

“Like Timon and Pumbaa?” he asks, eyes shining, smile wide.

“Yes.”

Yuri doesn’t regret showing Beka the The Lion King movies.

 

•  
•

“I’m going back to Kazakhstan.”

Beka stands there in front of him, both clad in warm coats to protect them from the Russian winter. They were supposed to be here to play together with the snow, like they do every year since they met for the first time, so Yuri doesn’t understand why they’re talking instead of playing. Beka could have said that to him while they built a snowman or something, it’s not like this is the first time he goes to Kazakhstan to visit his family so it’s not a surprise for Yuri to hear that. And because of it, Yuri doesn’t quite get the seriousness on his friend’s face, the hard inflection of his still childlike voice, but it sounds important so he nods to indicate he heard him.

“Okay,” he takes a moment and, when he speaks, he nods again, in order to assure Beka he understood him, and there’s no reason to be worried. “For how long?”

Otabek’s eyebrows furrow. It’s not an unusual sight, really, because he tends to frown a lot and that gives him this super focused and slightly mad appearance that Yuri finds extremely funny, because he knows lots of other kids avoid Beka thinking he’s some bully, while in fact he’s the best friend anyone could ask for.

He certainly is for Yuri.

“I’m,” Beka looks down at the snow and Yuri follows his eyes, curious, but when he sees nothing on the floor he understands his friend isn’t looking at anything, but maybe looking away from him. “I’m not coming back, Yura.”

It takes a moment, but then Yuri feels cold. Like he’s been stripped down to his underwear right here, in the middle of the snow-covered playground.

He gasps.

“What? No! Why!?” his voice goes up, high pitched and suddenly panicked. They were supposed to meet up to play, so why is this happening?

“My grandma is sick. Really sick, that’s what mom said,” Beka explains, still not looking at him, but fixing his eyes on the snow that’s still falling on the ground. Some snowflakes get caught on his hair. “We have to go back and take care of her, she can’t be alone.”

“Well then move her here!” Yuri continues, fists balling at his sides. “You can give her your room and come live with me. That way you don’t have to leave and you can all take care of your grandma.”

Beka’s smiling slightly, but it’s not a happy smile. He’s also still not looking at him.

“We can’t do that, Yura,” his voice is nothing more than a sad mumble, and he softly kicks the snow at his feet if anything just to occupy himself with something. “I already asked.”

There’s something caught in Yuri’s throat, but he doesn’t know what it is. It’s like he has a lot of things to say but nothing will come out, maybe all his words got tangled up inside his throat. And Beka’s not saying anything either, so a thick silence settles between them, so powerful Yuri believes the only thing he can hear is the slow falling of the tiny snowflakes that are steadily pouring over them. He wonders if maybe, if they stay still just enough time, the snow will cover them both and then Beka’s parents won’t be able to find him to take him away.

“But… I never got to meet your new sister,” is what leaves Yuri’s mouth after a while, a pathetic whisper that only makes him feel worse. “She’s being born soon, right? Can’t you at least stay until then?” Inzhu’s barely got two more months of pregnancy or so, that’s what they’ve told Yuri, and he feels kind of bad with himself for trying to make his best friend stay just two months more, but it’s better than nothing.

But Beka’s not having it. He shakes his head negative.

“No, Yura,” he sounds like it physically pains him to talk, but he still does. He has something important to say. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Silence has become a thing during their friendship, since neither of them is especially talkative and they enjoy each other’s quiet company, but right now it’s heavy and it’s gripping tight around their throats. Or around Yuri’s, at least. Now he’s started to realize the knot on his throat isn’t really tangled words, but the tight feeling of repressed emotion.

“Do you really have to go?” he asks, helpless.

“You know that I do,” Beka answers, once again not looking directly at him.

He doesn’t want to cry, but he’s afraid he will.

“Beka--”

“I-,” Beka cuts him as soon as he starts talking, though he looks unsure of what to say. “I… have to go pack up.”

“No, Beka, wait--” Yuri begs, reaching out with his hand to grab his friend.

Otabek shakes his hand off without even turning to look at him.

“Sorry, Yura.” 

His voice sounds strained, and if Yuri were in the right mindset to think about that, he’d notice his tense shoulders, but he’s too busy trying to register the meaning of the conversation they just had, the significance of his best friend’s words. He tries to keep the knot in his throat tight, tight enough so it won’t fall loose.

But his best friend is walking away, steadily, all across the park and the street, until he starts running and turns around a corner and Yuri loses sight of him. He wonders if maybe it’ll be forever.

The knot in his throat comes undone. So does he.

 

Yuri’s too shaken when he gets back home, so he tells grandpa in between sobs and grandpa calls Beka’s parents and has to confirm to him that yes, they _are_ leaving, but at least he gets the time the plane’s supposed to take off so they can go say goodbye at the airport. It doesn’t make Yuri happy, but it’s better than nothing.

Thus, next morning, ten-year-old Yuri Plisetsky gets up really early and gets dressed, makes himself as presentable as he can while holding the knowledge this is going to be the last time he sees his best friend. Grandpa said he can go visit him in Almaty, but Yuri knows they don’t really have the money for that. It doesn’t feel real, more like something out of a dream, too fast for Yuri to really understand his life’s about to suffer a dramatic change. But he goes with it. He has a quick breakfast, grabs his jacket, gets in the car while rubbing softly at his thighs because winter is being pretty harsh this year, waits for his grandpa to start driving.

Except that he doesn’t drive. He tries to turn the engine on repeatedly, but it won’t start. Grandpa gets out and tries to find the problem, and a minute turns into five and then ten, and Yuri’s starting to get nervous. A couple walks by and tries to help, but it doesn’t work either, and they’re losing time, and it’s a long drive to the airport, and even if Yuri begs grandpa to hurry up there’s only so much the man can do.

Grandpa tries contacting the mechanic to ask if he can come give the car a quick look, but when he says he’ll only be able to go in an hour, Yuri loses all hope. He’s using all his focus on willing himself to not cry, so he barely registers his grandpa looking at him with a pained expression before checking his wallet and pockets. Then he’s being grabbed by the hand and hurried to get inside a cab, and when grandpa tells the driver to _hurry up to the airport_ Yuri maybe panics a little. Even he knows this is gonna cost money they can’t really spend on it. Living only on grandpa’s money is quite tight, and they manage just well but there’s no place for this kind of luxuries. Grandpa doesn’t care about it, tells him this is important enough. Yuri almost cries again.

They barely make it on time, rushing through doors and corridors that Yuri doesn’t have the time to memorize. The nice lady said Beka’s flight was already boarding, but maybe he’s still waiting. Yuri sure hopes he is. Then grandpa and him make it to a place where they can’t go past unless they have a plane ticket, and while grandpa tries to convince the men to let them through, Yuri looks around for Beka. Or his mother, or his father, or any of his sisters. Anything that can tell him where his best friend is, before he loses him forever.

In between the sea of golden hair, he spots some dark-haired people. Those dark brown curls can’t belong to anyone else than Inzhu, and Yuri can very well recognize the black-haired boy next to her.

“Beka!” he yells, waving his hands to catch his friend’s attention.

Beka turns around just as he’s going through the boarding door. Yuri waits.

He doesn’t come back.

People keep pushing through the door, an endless, unidirectional flow of faces and colour.

Yuri waits more. He waits until everyone’s boarded the plane, until the men ask grandpa to get him down from the guarding fence. Until the doors are announced as closed. Until the plane takes off and until he can’t see it anymore, and whether that’s because it’s too far away or because the tears are blurring his sight, he doesn’t know.

Grandpa hugs him, and he cries harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add the fanart at the begining of this chapter, but I thought it'd be better leaving it after the scenes it depicts, so as to not spoil too much I guess? I hope that's okay.
> 
> I sincerely wish I broke some hearts with the airport scene, or I'll be greatly disappointed.
> 
> Lin, now that you're reading it, I hope I could capture the essence of your art and could successfully pour it out in my words ❤


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of huge time skips and awkward meetings, people. Also, fanart at the end of this chapter!!

At exactly 7:15 am, Otabek Altin gets out of bed after spending five minutes lazing around in bed like he religiously does every morning. Without turning on any light or opening any window yet, he pads his way to the bathroom and relieves himself from his pyjama bottoms and underwear before hopping into the shower. The warm water droplets softly hitting his face help his last lazy brain cells wake up fully, and with a last rub at his face he steps out of the shower. The weather is starting to cool down, but still not enough for him to have to turn the heater on. Still, a soft shiver runs down his spine when he steps out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist and his skin still moist and warm against the air of the living-dining room.

He gets dressed quickly enough, just picking a pair of dark jeans and a plain, white shirt. He takes his daily mug of morning coffee with three spoons of sugar and just a splash of milk, and drinks it while he checks the schedule he got by email five days ago, and immediately printed and attached to the main door with maybe one too many strips of tape once he got back from Kazakhstan. He doesn’t trust in his ability to not lose it.

With his thumb, he wipes his lower lip clean from the rests of sugar left by the pastry he ate with his coffee, and swipes the sweet remnants with his tongue as he defines he’s successfully memorized his day. He brushes his teeth and runs a hand through his still somewhat damp hair to brush it back, not bothering to do much more than grabbing his trusted black leather jacket and a pair of gloves before heading out with his helmet hooked around his forearm. His bike is parked at the building’s parking lot on the ground floor, and after getting on it and starting it, all that keeps him away from his next destination is a five-minute drive. It would be twenty minutes by foot. Otabek loves his motorbike.

A little more than five minutes later —there was an old man driving his old car at a very slow speed just in front of him for a few blocks—, Otabek parks his bike on the parking lot and stretches a little before starting to walk through it and into the building. It’s a nice morning, a little grey even though the weather forecast said it would be sunny, but just cool enough to be comfortable. There are light grey clouds covering most of the sky, so the natural lighting is somewhat dull and makes everything look colder than it actually is. The trees are already losing some leaves, most of them barely starting to change their vivid green for more autumn-like browns, reds and yellows. There’s a man sweeping the few fallen leaves around, putting them in a bag to keep the parking lot clean. Otabek meets his gaze and nods at him as he walks by, and the man nods back. A fairly simple interaction, something he appreciates.

The parking lot is maybe another a-little-more-than-five minutes away from the Natural and Health Sciences building, but he’s still got time so he hangs his bag on his shoulder and walks at a leisurely pace along the pavement pathway, keeping himself in one side to allow other people to walk past him. He focuses on the dull red of the outside walls of the buildings and how it looks against the green or the grass and the small bushes that sport flowers during spring, and on the way the sky reflects on the big windows and the glass elevators that hang outside, like protruding from the walls. There’s plenty of people walking around, at least considering it’s not even eight am, and more than one waves at him but thankfully nobody stops to make small talk. Then Otabek climbs the three steps of the stairway leading up to the main entrance to his building, and his luck’s cut short by a group of three confused-looking girls who seem to really need help. They turn out to be Anthropology students, and they’re obviously pretty lost because they’re not even in the right building, so Otabek takes them to the map next to the entrance and shows them where the Economic and Social Sciences classes are held.

He has to make a run for it to get to the elevator in time, and thanks the guy near the doors for holding them open for him. It’s pretty full, Otabek notices. He’s probably the last person that could fit in there before it became too tight and too dangerous.

Wanting to avoid the chance of eye contact and awkward silence, Otabek looks outside through the glass walls of the elevator, and notices the clouds have started to dissipate and the light of the sun, golden yellow, is starting to shine through.

 

•  
•

First days are always shit, ask Yuri Plisetsky about it. His first day of kindergarten he had spent crying in a corner, missing his mother. His first day of primary school had started with a kick to the face that left him with a hole where his loose teeth had been just seconds ago, and on his first day of high school the local bullies had established the tradition of teasing him for being short. His first day at the gymnastics class he’d been taking since he was six had been incredibly bothersome since he was the only boy and kept getting confused with a girl, and that’s without mentioning his first day under Lilia’s tutoring. That had been hell in a whole different way. So, with his extensive experience in shitty first days, _of course_ Yuri knew his first day of college would suck. He was prepared for it. He had mentalized himself. He could go through whatever happened and survive it, and then come back ready for the second day.

He wasn’t prepared for his classes to start at eight a.m., though. Shit. The day he found out, with some quick calculations he had concluded that meant getting up at seven a.m. everyday, and even if he had done that for years because of school, he never once had managed to get his brain to properly wake up before ten. He was screwed.

Which brings him to this cool autumn morning, walking his way from the college dorms to the building. The campus of St. Petersburg University is huge, and he barely had time to visit all of it, much less to remember the disposition of every area and which building is destined to which classes. The only things he knows for now are the ones that compete him; that being, for example, where the classes involving natural sciences are held. He has an almost ten-minute walk from the dorms and across the campus to get there, so that’s where he goes. Listening to music while walking in the cool air of the morning helps his brain wake up a little more, so hopefully he won’t be falling asleep on his first hour.

He has his schedule printed out and he revised it while having breakfast, but he still has to check where exactly classroom A-300 is. Thank god there’s a map at the hall of every building. As far as he knows, the A indicates the classroom belongs to the Natural and Health Sciences building, and since it starts with the number three it means the classroom in question is on the third floor, but that’s where his knowledge ends. Still, it should be easy to find, and he still has time.

It marvels Yuri, though not in the most pleasant way, how lively the campus already is even before eight in the morning. There’s people walking down the paths connecting the separate buildings, going in different directions and at different speeds. Some are in groups and some walk alone, reading some papers with a nervous look on their eyes or munching on a cereal bar with a face that says ‘I woke up too late for breakfast’, listening to music like himself or just looking ahead. He can’t know who’s fresh meat like him and who’s already on their third or fourth year, he doesn’t yet have the experience to be able to tell just by the expression on everyone’s face, but he can point out some students that look like seniors. Like that girl, the one with her hair tied in a high ponytail and a pink medical uniform —he’s been told only the third-year med students wear those—, or those two guys that walk while talking, lab coats draped over their relaxed shoulders.

Yuri wonders if he looks as scared and out of place as that group of six guys and girls that move together like a pack. Those are most definitely first years too, nobody can be having an important test on their first day of class. Right?

It’s too crowded for his liking, since he’s not the most social person when it’s so early in the morning —or ever, actually— but he still manages to navigate himself through the hall without having to stop or interact with anyone. People probably notice he's not the right guy to ask for indications. He walks up to the map standing on one side of the hall and looks at it with vague interest. Right beside it there’s a white chart with the numbers of the classrooms and beside each one there's the name of the class held there, with the time it starts and finishes and the career it belongs to. Introductory Class, 8:00 - 9:00, classroom A-300 [First Year Collective Class]. That's his first one, he remembers it from his printed schedule and is glad to find it matches.

Yuri looks up and down the chart to see if he can find his next classes. There’s nothing wrong with double checking, right? Biology, 9:00 - 12:00, classroom A-217. Then he has an hour before his next class, probably for lunch. Next class is 13:00 - 15:00, Biochemistry, classroom A-203. Wow, so useful, Yuri thinks as he arches both eyebrows in slight amazement. Who would have thought this place could be so organized? And with the number of classes and careers taught here, he almost thinks there must be a person hired specifically to arrange this chart and keep track of it, the possible changes and all. He's impressed.

But well, back to what he actually came to do. He glances back to the map and finds the third floor quite easily, then his eyes run all over the drawing of the building, black lines over white background, coloured squares signalling important places like emergency exits and bathrooms, and the classrooms have numbers written at the centre. Classroom A-300 stands out as the biggest room on the floor, looking at least three or four times bigger than any other room in the whole building, so Yuri guesses it's a room they use for the biggest classes. Since this one is an introductory class they'll probably jam every Natural Sciences first year course there and give them the same talk, maybe explain how things work here, who they can refer to if needed, maybe make some introductions for the delegates or the director or whoever needs to be introduced to the new students. He doesn't really know what's going to happen there but he has this vague idea of what it could be about.

He's not that interested in hearing about the functioning and the rules all over again, he was already explained about all that when he came to register back when summer started, but it must be done and he's not going to start complaining so early in the morning. At least not outloud. So, now knowing where he's headed, he turns around and starts walking in the general direction of the stairs. But then he realizes, hey, the elevator is much closer and, for some reason, less crowded. Maybe because the elevators here are built entirely out of glass, with the only exception of the floor, so it's like you're pushing yourself inside a big ass fish tank, and there must be people that get scared about it breaking or something. Personally, Yuri thinks it's cool. He didn't have the chance to get in one of those elevators when he first came to visit the place, to see the dorms where he'd be staying and deliver all the necessary papers for the inscription and such, but he saw them from outside, some empty and some full of people, and he got instantly excited because he had never seen a glass elevator outside from movies. So, he turns around and walks, instead, in the direction of the nearest elevator. He punches the button on the metal panel and a blue ring lights up around it, signalling the elevator is coming down to the first floor. He waits, some people joining him, but he ignores them in favour of listening to his music, eyes fixed on the closed elevator door so his company takes the hint that he doesn’t want to make small chat while waiting. The metallic elevator doors slide open, welcoming the students inside the glass cage that looks wide and inviting, and Yuri steps inside, isolating himself in a corner so nobody tries to start a conversation with him. He finds soon enough that the elevator looks wider than it actually is.

With five people inside, the doors start to close slowly. Then a student standing close to the entrance holds one of the doors with the palm of his hand, and Yuri sees a dark blur rushing to get inside the elevator. Not interested in whatever is happening there, he instead looks down and focuses on his phone screen, looking for a good song that can put him in a good enough mood to get him through this first hour. At least he’s thankful his first class isn’t exactly a class but an introductory talk, that way he has one more hour to will his brain to work properly.

The elevator starts going up with a soft pull, and Yuri looks out the glass wall to see the floor slowly getting further and further away, the grey and green of the concrete in between the long expanses of grass becoming less defined. Elevators had always been a boring thing, so the excitement he feels now is new and unexpected. He wonders how everything will look once he gets to the third floor.

They stop moving swiftly once they get to the first floor, and everyone gets out. Well, almost everyone, but Yuri’s too focused on looking outside, at the grey morning that’s slowly getting sunnier as the clouds dissipate and let the golden-yellow glow of the sun through. Yuri shakes his head to get his ponytail out of the place it got stuck in, right in between his thin, red scarf and the back of his neck, and in the process one of his earphones falls off his ear.

Had it been a couple of seconds later, he would have missed it. But he hears it, by trick of fate, that one word muttered by a deep but soft voice tinted with confusion.

“Yura?”

His eyes go wide.

 

•  
•

Otabek’s catches the movement in his peripheral vision and his head shots up in reflex before he can even think about how it will look to be so openly staring at a stranger, his brown eyes falling over golden hair that shimmers under the morning sunlight. He had been aware that he’d been left alone with just another person inside the elevator, but he didn’t look because, truthfully, the chances of making eye contact would be too high and he didn’t want to risk being submitted to make small chat or go through an awkward silence. Also, he just wasn’t interested in looking at people.

But well, this person isn’t exactly easy to ignore, now that he notices.

At first. he’s not sure if it’s a girl or a boy, what with the long hair held in a high ponytail, and the animal print and the —at first sight— androgynous features. A second later, though, he’s sure it’s a guy. He’s tall but not so much, less than ten centimetres taller than him, though his lean body and long legs make him seem taller. He’s wearing tight black jeans that ensure everyone notices that. His hair is long and looks silky, shiny under the direct glow of the low sun, and even though he’s offering a very neat view of his profile, which presents long eyelashes and a slightly upturned nose, there’s a very noticeable bump on the front of his thin neck, the Adam’s apple that verifies this individual’s just a very pretty man.

Even if it’s still too early in the morning, Otabek’s brain works fast and, with that quick assessment of this guy’s appearance, it makes bells start to ring. There’s something familiar about him, and when the guy turns his head in Otabek’s direction to grab his earphone between two slim fingers, it suddenly becomes clear.

Otabek gasps, the word falling from his lips with a fluid familiarity that hasn’t been deterred by the eight years he’s went without saying it.

“Yura?”

They’re halfway to the second floor and in the quiet, lonely space of the elevator, Otabek’s voice is clear enough to reach the blond’s ears.

Then there’s a pair of too familiar green eyes looking back at him, wide in surprise. A silent moment comes and goes before Yuri’s thin lips open and mouth something around silent air, before an actual word detangles his tongue and makes it past his mouth.

“... Otabek?”

A weird feeling courses through Otabek’s entire being, like a chill that doesn’t prickle his skin. He stares, mouth agape, brain disconnected. Then the elevator doors slide open and the silence is broken by the chattering coming from the hallways, and with that the shock wears off just enough for him to close his mouth and look around swiftly. Two girls get inside and stay close to the doors, absolutely unaware of what they’ve interrupted —if they’ve interrupted _something_ at all.

The elevator starts moving again and Otabek straightens himself.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, perhaps a little harshly, but full of curiosity and confusion in equal parts.

Yuri frowns, his chin angling a little lower while his eyes never leave Otabek’s.

“Studying? What else would I be doing here, asshole?”

The insult falls from Yuri’s lips with such naturality that Otabek should know it’s become part of his usual vocabulary, but how could he stop and think about that right now. It’s been too many years since he last saw Yuri, and he’s not anymore that little boy he left behind. He’s a stranger. 

That hits him like a brick to the chest.

“Yeah,” he mutters, uncomfortably looking to the side to check if the girls are still ignoring them. They are, gratefully. “Yeah, you’re right, that was a stupid question.”

There’s a small silence that settles between them, filled only with the soft chattering of the girls. It’s awkward, and neither wants to leave it like that because it just doesn’t feel right, not after eight years of not seeing each other, but time and distance have cooled things down between them, and where a solid friendship stood before, now only the ruins remain. The unbreachable distance that makes greetings awkward instead of warm, and eye contact uncomfortable instead of easy.

The realization strikes painfully in the middle of Otabek’s chest, but he doesn’t have time to wonder if Yuri feels the same.

“Do you study here too?” Yuri’s voice sounds slightly unsure, weird for someone so brash. Well, at least he was when he was a kid.

Since Yuri’s making the effort to actually communicate decently, Otabek clears his throat and decides to put some of himself too so at least they can walk out of this elevator not feeling heavy for the rest of the week. Though it sounds like a difficult thing to accomplish right now.

“Uh, yeah,” he nods, for once hoping the elevator would move faster, because an awkward chance encounter with his childhood best friend at eight in the morning isn’t something he was prepared for. “Physiotherapy. You?”

“Veterinary,” Yuri responds quickly, sounding a little too much like he’s trying to avoid any kind of prolonged silence. “It’s my first day, though.”

“Oh. You’re gonna have an introductory class, then,” Otabek comments, and proceeds to then feel like an idiot because of course Yuri already knows that, he’s probably been emailed his schedule and even the most irresponsible students look at their schedule on their first day.

Yuri nods and hums, not looking at him but at the door, like he’s willing it to open soon.

“Yeah,” he mutters, just to say something so they won’t fall into some uncomfortable silence.

But still, ah, there it is. The dreaded silence that comes anyway, no matter how hard they tried. Nobody can beat awkwardness, that’s a fact.

They stay standing there, not exactly close but not that far either. Otabek looks outside the elevator, pretending to be really focused on the tree branches that are slowly losing their autumn-coloured leaves, and Yuri looks at his phone like he’s doing something really important.

The elevator doors finally open on the third floor, and Yuri looks a little relieved.

“Well, this is my floor,” he tries to sound casual but the sentence comes out forced. A tight smile stretches his lips and for a moment he looks unsure of what to do. “I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Otabek nods and awkwardly smiles back.

“Yeah, we’ll probably run into each other.”

“Yeah, probably,” Yuri repeats. Now that he’s picked up the conversation he can’t just let it die again, but he wasn’t expecting these girls to take so long to fucking _move_. He finally gets pissed of waiting and pushes through the girls, who finally notice they’re actually on the last floor and have to get out too. “See ya.”

Yuri’s gone as soon as he appeared, and it takes a moment for Otabek to finally process what happened. 

So, Yuri’s studying here too. Well, isn’t it a big coincidence. He’ll have some thinking to do tonight.

Also, he had to get out on the second floor.

____________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lin said she wanted awkwardness, so I hope I met her expectations.
> 
> Is this enough awkwardness for you, Lin? 
> 
> (I hope not because we're only halfway there)
> 
> You can check the art in tumblr [right here](https://yurioniceshelter.tumblr.com/post/161199852212/artist-linni-t-author-kirinvlinder-tumblr)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one thinking "Mila is all of us". I hope you agree.

It’s not until a week later that they run into each other again. Otabek had been kind of on edge during the first two days, unsure of if he really wanted to have another totally uncomfortable talk with Yuri. He couldn’t decipher his own feelings about meeting his childhood friend there, but he admitted to himself he should have expected it, since he had left Kazakhstan again to come study in Russia.

This time, though, they don’t run into each other alone. _Thankfully_.

It’s Monday again, and it sucks because professors are already going hard and he’s already getting work requests from students and yes, he appreciates the money, but he really wonders how these people manage to start the year needing massages to alleviate their tense shoulders. He’s not dumb, probably most girls just want a chance to flirt with him, but joke’s on them because he’s not interested in women at all. He’s in for the money, not for the chance to rub some beautiful girl’s shoulders. Or guy’s shoulders, because girls aren’t the only ones that get sore muscles.

Anyway, when Otabek’s last class of the morning finishes, he picks up his things and heads to the elevator. He’d normally take the stairs, but during his summer in Almaty he had hurt his knee quite badly, almost enough to require surgery on it, and he had been banned from too much movement for some time. He’s not about to force his knee too much now that he’s free to move again.

As he gets inside the elevator, he wonders if maybe his encounter with Yuri wouldn’t have happened, were he able to climb up three sets of stairs.

The Natural and Health Sciences building is in one end of the campus, and being the building “A” it kind of makes sense. There’s a total of ten buildings at the campus, one for each one of the six faculties plus the Management and Academics building, the cafeteria, the library and the dorms. And also the parking lot, so this university is basically a small city. Otabek thinks it’s only lacking inner streets with their own names, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he heard about some project to take care of that. While the dorms are a little more separated from the rest of the buildings, the ones where classes are held are basically bunched up all together in the same area, with the cafeteria and the library at the middle of it all because those are like the common areas for every student to roam freely and interact with people they don’t run into while walking along the corridors.

Otabek walks out of the A building and past the B —Economic and Social Sciences— and the C —Media, Art and Literature—, and when he’s walking past the main entrance to the library he spots a very well known head of wavy red hair pushing through the doors. Mila looks up just in time to see him too and, as she waves at him, he changes the direction of his steps to meet her.

She greets him with a hug that takes the air from his lungs, and she even has to lean down to do so. Otabek still doesn’t know how to feel about the hugs, even after two years of friendship, so he stays put and then awkwardly wraps his arms around her waist. He hopes this time she won’t pick him up from the floor. Mila’s always greeted him with a hug ever since they warmed up to each other and became friends, and he’s always ended up with his face pressed against her chest because she’s _tall,_ and she wears _heels_. He knows he’s not exactly tall, barely reaching 1,69 at almost twenty years old, but the fact that Mila’s 1,73 _without heels_ is already enough. He feels tiny by her side.

Not that he really has a problem with that.

“Beks, long time no see!” she squeezes him one last time before letting him go, and he just unceremoniously drops his arms at his sides.

“It’s been a while, indeed,” he grins a little to the side and adjusts his always present leather jacket before looking up at her again. “How’ve you been?”

Mila’s hair looks different, he notices now that he’s looking at it up close. He frowns. It’s maybe a little longer than last time he saw her two months ago, but the new thing is way more obvious than some extra centimeters.

“You dyed your hair?” he asks again, before she can answer his last question.

Mila grins wide and blinding.

“Bleached it a little,” she clarifies, touching the slightly discolored tips. “Sara convinced me to try this ombre thing while I was visiting, and I do like it man, it makes my hair look shinier.”

“Looks good. I’ve seen it around a lot,” Otabek doesn’t have a clear opinion on hair trends, or trends at all, but he admits he likes how this looks on Mila.

To be honest, he very rarely doesn’t like something on Mila. He may not be attracted to girls, but that doesn’t mean he can’t recognize she’s gorgeous.

“Thanks, Beks,” she smiles and her eyelashes cast shadows over her cheeks. She always complains about how unfair it is that Otabek has longer eyelashes than her, but he doesn’t think hers are bad at all. She always chalks it up to her using mascara and a lash curler. He never understood the difference until Mila convinced him to let her do his eyes and well, okay, she may have been right.

Mila is talking again so he focuses on her voice instead of the memory of his dark, curved eyelashes.

“Were you going to the cafeteria? I’m meeting up with a friend there,” she says, shifting the position of her bag over her shoulder.

“Not really,” he shakes his head no, already sensing she’s thinking about offering him to join her and her friend for lunch, “but I can wait with you. I’m going home for the day.”

“Good enough for me,” she shrugs one shoulder and starts walking towards the next building, over the grass instead of the pavement path even though she’s wearing heels and that can’t be comfortable. She doesn’t seem to care, though. “So, what have you been up to? How was Almaty?”

Otabek smiles that small smile of his and follows her steps, easily keeping at her side. Conversation with Mila is always pleasing.

“Like every other summer in Almaty,” he shrugs, “just that this time I injured my knee and barely avoided surgery.”

“What?” Mila looks alarmed and slightly offended she wasn’t informed of this matter before, “How did you do that?”

“I was playing with my sisters at the park, chasing them, and I tried to turn around while running, but the ground was too soft and my foot got stuck. I did turn around, but my leg didn’t quite follow the movement of my body,” he explains, and can’t help the smirk as Mila winces. “Yeah, it was as bad as it sounds. Hurt a lot, the doctor said I could have ruptured my ligament, but luckily it was just sprained. Still had to rest and walk around with clutches for more than half my time there.”

“Dude, that sucks,” she groans, too empathic to remember she wasn’t the one confined to a bed for entire days. “I’m guessing your sisters weren’t happy about their big bro not being able to play with them.”

Otabek shakes his head and moves to the side, stepping on the grass to make space for a girl on a wheelchair.

“Not at all,” he agrees, going back to the pavement path and still wondering why Mila likes to walk on the grass with her heels. “But we still went to the park and such, and they came to read me stories at night and we watched movies all together in my bed, so it wasn’t that bad.”

“You’re a really lucky man, Beks,” she runs a hand through her hair and looks at her unpainted nails before directing her eyes back at him. “I’d kill to have a sister as cute as yours, and you have _three_.”

“I can borrow you one whenever you want,” he jokes, but he recognizes he’s lucky. He has a really great family, if he says so himself. He’s known lots of people with fucked up or vaguely functioning families, so he’s glad about the cards he’s playing with.

Mila’s family, for one, is one of the families he’d never wish to have. Her mother died when she was fourteen, and she was an only child up until she turned sixteen, when his father remarried a woman with a daughter her age that became the light of his eyes, constantly having to live with being compared to her, and everything became worse when she came out as bisexual at seventeen.

“I’ll take them all, don’t test me,” she looks at him with raised eyebrows and he can’t help but think that his sisters would probably love her. They love practically everyone, but Mila would be like a big sister and teach them how to do perfect smoky eyes and then probably how to kill someone with the eyeliner. Both literally and figuratively.

“You should really visit sometime, they already kind of know you because they’ve seen us texting and in pictures together, so they’ve asked a lot,” Otabek slows down once they start approaching the entrance of the cafeteria, and comes to a full stop right besides the main doors.

“Wouldn’t your mom think we’re dating, _again_?” she half jokes, half asks.

True, though. Otabek’s mother had been apparently convinced they were dating, or that her son was at least interested in Mila, until he sat her down and had a very serious talk about why he did not like Mila, or any girl. Again. He hopes it actually sunk this time.

“No, she got past that when I told her I don’t like you that way for like the thousandth time,” he rolls his eyes and sighs softly at the memory.

“Is that because I’m taller than you?” she pretends to be offended, hand over her forehead and eyes in a dramatic gesture. “It is, isn’t it?”

“More because I’m gay, but I’ll let you be offended,” he takes his bag from his shoulder and leaves it on the floor right besides his feet. “So, do I know this friend of yours?”

Mila is pressing her hand against the wall, stabilizing herself as she looks over her shoulder while trying to fix something about her heel, leg bent behind her higher than Otabek could ever hope for.

“I don’t think so,” she picks at the clasp on the side of her heels like she’s not sure how it works, looking confused. “He just started this year. I knew him from before, but I doubt you’ve had the chance to meet him in just one week of class.”

Mila finally leaves his heel in peace, and Otabek doesn’t mind her response much. There are lots of people starting their studies at St. Petersburg Uni every year, so there’s no reason for him to think anything of it.

Except that she grew up in Moscow, and there’s another person he knows from Moscow that’s coincidentally a ‘he’ and also started his studies this year, and both him and her used to practice gymnastics, as far as he knows. So maybe there _is_ a reason.

“Oh,” he tries to sound nonchalant as he reacts, though he instantly notices that’s not the case. He goes on anyway. “And what’s his name, if I can ask?”

Mila looks at him from above, a playful smirk on her lips. He knows what she’s thinking.

“Wanna be the first one to take a bite of that fresh meat, Beks?” she accuses, half joking and half serious. “He’s like family to me, so paws off my baby,” her smile is still in place, which tells Otabek she’s not mad at him or anything, and she doesn’t fully mean what she’s saying, but a warning is still a warning. “His name is Yur--”

Funny thing is, Mila never gets that last letter off her mouth, because a very familiar voice —yet immensely different from what he recalls from eight years ago— interrupts her abruptly.

“Hey, hag!”

Ah. Yes, of course.

As if he had been summoned, Yuri’s head suddenly pokes out from a window, his furrowed brow making him look angry. He doesn’t wait any answer, just goes on yelling. Otabek doesn’t know if that’s because he’s a few meters away or it’s just his usual way of communicating.

“I’ve been waiting for you for fucking _hours_!” he complains. Otabek guesses he probably hasn’t, because the last period finished maybe fifteen minutes ago. Yuri, still, looks like he’s about to go on yelling when he finally spots him. His face goes from anger to surprise and then a mix of that with confusion, and Otabek can’t, truthfully can’t, tell for sure what’s going to come out his mouth next. “What is he doing here?”

Well, it could have been worse. A lot worse.

Otabek could have just been standing there, totally unrelated to Mila, but by their closeness and the fact that they’re facing each other, and that Mila was caught in the middle of a sentence when Yuri interrupted, it clear as day that they both have some connection.

Mila, of course, doesn’t know there’s a connection her friends share.

“Don’t be so whiny, Yuratchka,” she answers immediately, always with that carefree demeanor that makes her so approachable. “Oh, him? He’s my friend, Otab--”

“Yes, I know that,” for the second time in less than five minutes, Yuri interrupts Mila mid-word. He’s frowning again, and even if he apparently does that a lot now, Otabek can’t stop himself from taking it personally. “I know him. That’s not what I meant.”

Mila, totally undeterred by Yuri’s obviously less than friendly demeanor, just curves her eyebrows in surprise and looks back at Otabek.

Yuri’s still leaning out through the window, awkwardly peeking out, and Otabek feels uncomfortably observed.

He nods.

“Yeah,” there’s some kind of bittersweet aftertaste to that word, to admitting that he and Yuri used to be friends, back when things were simpler and the only thing you needed to do was ask someone to be your friend. Back then when things were decided with a snowball fight, before Otabek ran away cutting all his ties to the blond. “We used to- we met when I lived in Moscow.”

“What? _Really_?” her incredulous tone is more than enough to know Mila can’t believe how small the world is. Of all the cities in Russia, they all had to grow up in Moscow, and out of all the people living there, it was them who had to meet while studying in St. Petersburg. “This is incredible, guys. This has to be some kind of sign, we should just start a Moscow club or something,” the thing is, for someone who usually catches on people’s mood quite quickly, Mila is being totally oblivious to what’s really going on here. “Why don’t you join us for lunch then, Beks? You have to tell me how you two met.”

“Wait, wait, _wait_ ,” Yuri raises his hand through the open window, moving it from side to side. His frown is so pronounced now there’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “How the fuck do _you_ know each other? She’s _my_ friend, asshole,” for the first time he locks eyes with Otabek, but it feels like he’s trying to intimidate him.

Otabek doesn’t know how to respond to such an aggressive, demanding tone, but he doesn’t need to figure it out because Mila’s taking it upon herself to answer.

“He helped me around the library once, to find a book section. Then I helped him grab a book that was too high up for him” Mila explains with a casual, relaxed tone, like it’s no big deal. She even smirks devilishly at the memory. Otabek wonders if maybe Yuri has become a constantly aggressive person, since she doesn’t appear to think he’s actually angry, totally unfazed by his demeanor, much unlike Otabek. “You know, Yuri, friends can be shared. Did you not learn that in primary school?” she mocks, leaning towards him with her hands on her hips. But as soon as she leaned forward, she’s going back to her straight posture and taking a couple of steps back. “Having a conversation through a window is weird and uncomfortable, we’re going in. Come on, Beks, you can join us.”

Mila walks past him, evidently expecting him to follow, and Otabek casts a last glance at Yuri. The last thing he sees is a frown, and then blond hair and an elbow disappearing behind the windowsill.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Otabek makes Mila stop dead on her tracks by saying that, and only then she looks back with her brows drawn together in confusion.

“So Yuri is that hostile towards you because something happened?” she grabs her bag a little tighter, and looks over Otabek’s shoulder to see if Yuri has emerged through the window again to demand her presence at the table. He hasn’t, so her eyes go back to Otabek in front of her.

“I thought you hadn’t noticed,” Otabek slumps his shoulders, a little more relaxed now that he knows he won’t have to give any explanations.

Mila’s lips are tugged a little upward at the left corner. _Of course she noticed_.

“Oh, I did, but he’s always pissed at the world so I figured it wasn’t anything important or personal,” she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and it takes exactly two second for it to fall back into its former place. “But it _is_ personal, isn’t it?”

Well, how to answer to that question? Otabek sighs.

“We haven’t talked in eight years,” Otabek leans down to pick his bag up, hanging it on his shoulder. “It’s awkward, to say the least. We met on the elevator the morning of the first day of class and it was really uncomfortable.”

She nods, her expression softening with understanding. He hasn’t even told her the whole story yet, but the truth is, he’s not exactly sure of what happened between them. They just fell apart, maybe the distance was too much for them to keep in contact being so young, he doesn’t know. But he’s always had the feeling Yuri was angry at him, and he does feel a little guilty about the last time they saw each other. About how he wasted their only opportunity to say goodbye.

“I get that,” by Mila’s tone, Otabek knows she won’t ask for more explanation than that, and he’s glad. He’d tell her all he knows without a problem, but they don’t have the time right now. “Well, I’ll see you around, then. I hope you’ll find a way to work things out.”

“I don’t know,” Otabek states, honest. “But I hope so.”

Yuri pokes out the window once more a couple of seconds later, to see the back of Otabek’s body walking away and Mila disappearing through the doors, finally walking inside.

“Didn’t you say he was coming too?” is the first thing Yuri asks when Mila’s near enough to hear him, while pointedly looking at his phone screen and tapping on it.

“Did you actually want him to come?” Mila takes off his bag and hangs it on the chair, then sits down in front of Yuri. They should go pick their food, but first there seems to be something they need to talk about. “Because it sure sounded like you didn’t.”

Yuri’s lips tense a little, his eyes becoming even more focused on his phone as he shrugs.

“I don’t care, he can do whatever he wants.”

Mila sighs. It’s been now five years since she met Yuri, but even though she’s come to know him deeply, as few people get to, the boy is still a hard nut to crack when it comes to emotional things, feelings, relationships. The only relationship he’s always been honest about is the one he shares with his grandpa, but the rest? Sometimes Mila thinks it would be easier to get a direct answer from a wooden bench.

She still has to try. Yuri doesn’t really have friends beside her, so she’s the only one who he’ll open up to.

“He told me you hadn’t seen each other in eight years,” she starts, and by the way Yuri’s shoulders square up she knows he’s holding something back. He’s still not looking at her. “Even if I hadn’t seen a friend in so many years, I wouldn’t be as angry and hostile as you were with him, so I’m assuming something happened.”

Yuri stays deadly silent, pretending to be very focused on what he’s doing with his phone. Knowing him, he’s probably just scrolling down on Instagram without even paying attention to what his eyes are seeing.

“Come on, Plisetsky, I know you enough. Cut the crap and spill the beans, or at least stop being so grumpy,” she frowns, and with a swift movement she snatches the phone from his hand. Instagram, indeed. “I didn’t do anything to you, so don’t take it out on me. I’m missing my lil bro,” she adds, and pouts for good measure.

He was about to yell something at her, but that disarms him completely. Heh, works every time.

Yuri closes his mouth, thin lips pressed together and jaw tense. He looks to the side, and the hand he had lifted to grab his phone back retreats and instead brushes his hair between slender fingers. He sighs.

“You’re such a bother, hag,” he mutters, no intent in his voice. “We just… stopped talking, I guess.”

Mila sighs softly, putting Yuri’s phone screen-down over the table, but still not giving it back.

“Yeah, but why?”

It’s a simple question, but it takes Yuri a moment to gather his thoughts. He doesn’t trust people easily, Mila knows, and even if they’re way past that he still has to fight his first instinct of closing his walls to avoid letting people in.

Then he sighs again, louder and more dramatically this time, and Mila knows he’s going to get the full story now.

“Okay, we met when I was like six, and we were really really close for years,” he starts, both elbows suddenly pressed over the table, one hand still on his hair giving him a slightly despaired look. “He was my best friend, Mila. You know I don’t exactly have a family, but his made me feel like I had something. I had people who actually cared, someone else other than my grandpa,” he lowers his green eyes back to the cream-colored surface of the table. “This is gonna sound pathetic but… during that time, he was all I had,” he confesses, barely uttering the words. Mila slides a hand towards him, draping her fingers over the hand that Yuri has resting over the table in a silent way of comforting him, telling him he’s not pathetic. Yuri barely responds with a small twitch of his fingers, but doesn’t move away. “Then he had to go back to Kazakhstan, and it was all so sudden. He told me the day before, and then ran away saying he had to pack up. And grandpa called his parents and we were supposed to meet them at the airport, but we didn’t make it and I saw him just as he was getting on the plane.”

Yuri’s story stops there, but Mila waits patiently. It’s obvious there’s something else he’s still hasn’t said; the story doesn’t end there.

When Yuri spends two whole minutes without talking, she decides it’s time for her to nudge him until he finds a way to finish his narration.

“What happened after that?” she asks, hand finally retreating to avoid touching Yuri too much. He’s not that comfortable with body contact. “Did you never call each other? Write? Visit?”

Yuri shifts in his place, crossing his arms on the table.

“He did call, but I was so mad at him. So I never wanted to pick up, just in case it was him or his parents,” his eyes are directed downwards again. He finds a small stain on the table and starts scraping it with his index fingernail. “Grandpa picked up and I never wanted him to pass me the phone. Eventually, he stopped calling.”

“You do realize you were the dick there, right?” Mila takes a water bottle from her bag, unscrews the cap and takes a swig before offering it to Yuri, who shakes his head. She screws the cap again and sets the bottle in between them.

“Maybe,” he begrudgingly accepts, “but it was so unfair. He left and he took everything with him, and I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

“Well, dear Yuratchka,” she starts. He looks at her in that way that says ‘I’m not gonna like what you’re about to say, but I already know you’re right’. Mila loves that look. “It sounds to me that you two may have a couple of things to talk about.”

Yuri’s slips stretch to one side in a disgruntled pout, obviously not liking Mila’s conclusion. But he doesn’t openly disagree.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks after a moment of hesitance. “Do I just walk up to him and tell him ‘hey we should talk’ or what? I don’t thinks that’s gonna work,” Yuri’s tone is warning, just in case she actually expects him to walk up to Otabek and drag him into a deep conversation about their past. “He may not even be interested in me anymore.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s the case,” Mila instantly shakes her head, “But you could try to meet him and break the ice before jumping to the ‘you were my best friend and I miss you’ talk.”

“I didn’t say I _missed_ him!” Yuri hisses at her. “Anyway, again, how am I supposed to do that?”

Mila grins a big, devilish smile.

“You leave that up to me.”

 

•  
• 

<Mer.Mila> <<piercing-pic.jpg>>

<Mer.Mila> it’s infected!!!

<O.Altin> I told you, those things are evil

<Mer.Mila> not helping, Altin

<O.Altin> You get what you deserve for not cleaning it properly, Babicheva. What do you want me to do about it? Do you need antibiotic cream or something?

<Mer.Mila> nah bro I’m okay, just wanted to whine

<O.Altin> At 11:30 pm?

<Mer.Mila> At 11:30 pm yes, why

<O.Altin> …

<Mer.Mila> WHAT

<O.Altin> You’re either bored or scheming, you’re not fooling enyone

<Mer.Mila> “enyone”

<O.Altin> You’re not getting anything from me if you’re gonna treat me like this

<Mer.Mila> I’m sorry bby, come back. I can change

<O.Altin> You always say that. This is why I have trust issues

<O.Altin> Now really, what’s it?

<Mer.Mila> you’re no fun, Beks. okay, yes, I wanted to ask you something

<O.Altin> I have a feeling I know where this is going, but tell me

<Mer.Mila> ohh? What do you think I’m gonna ask?

<O.Altin> Something about Yuri, maybe?

<Mer.Mila> damn dude, such intuition

<O.Altin> Play nice

<Mer.Mila> okay SORRY. but yeah, Yuri. he told me some things abt you two the other day. you were childhood friends and such, right?

<O.Altin> Right

<Mer.Mila> but then you had to go back to Kazakhstan, and you never spoke again until you ran into each other the first day of class

<O.Altin> Yes, that’s basically public knowledge. What did you want from me, you nosy thing?

<Mer.Mila> just wanted to check on you. how are you feeling about seeing him again?

<O.Altin> Did you ask him this too?

<Mer.Mila> ofc I did. now spill, I wanna know

<O.Altin> To be honest, I don’t really know. I missed him a lot during the first months, but I think he was mad at me for not properly saying goodbye, so he never answered any of my calls. Eventually, I stopped calling

<O.Altin> I kinda wanted to contact him again, though I didn’t know what I’d do if I found him. That’s probably why I never added him on Facebook or anything. But things have their own way of working out, because we found ourselves alone in an elevator on the first day of class

<Mer.Mila> you were totally meant to meet again

<O.Altin> Maybe. But if that’s so, then universe is really a bitch because we just can’t seem to fit together anymore

<Mer.Mila> isn’t it a little too soon to say that? you’ve barely tried

<O.Altin> What little interaction we’ve had so far has been very awkward

<Mer.Mila> and your point is……..

<Mer.Mila> of course it’s awkward, man. you were so close and suddenly you go eight years without talking and then find each other again. it’s gonna take you awhile to get used to being around each other again. doesn’t mean you have to stop trying

<O.Altin> Why are you so interested, honestly? Did Yuri say something about this?

<Mer.Mila> maybe. but you know I just like meddling in everyone’s business

<O.Altin> So, let me get this straight. Are you trying to tell me I should do something about Yuri?

<Mer.Mila> that’s my professional opinion, yes

<Mer.Mila> trust me I’m a doctor

<O.Altin> You’re more of a bookworm than a doctor, but okay. So, what do you suggest I do?

<Mer.Mila> idk Beks, I just think you should have a nice long talk about life and work this thing out bc neither of you is unaffected by it

<Mer.Mila> how abt we all meet? us three together, so you can break the ice between you two without being pressured into a conversation just to avoid awkward silences

<O.Altin> Sounds like you know how to manage these situations

<Mer.Mila> I may or may not have dealt with something similar at some point. what do you say?

<O.Altin> I say it’s suspicious that you’re so invested in this

<Mer.Mila> omfg I can’t believe you. I think he misses you, Beks. he doesn’t have many friends and it seemed like you meant a lot to him when he was telling me your story. I just thought maybe you missed him too and figured why not do something NICE for my FRIENDS

<Mer.Mila> EVEN THO SOME OF THEM ARE ASSHOLES

<O.Altin> Okay, sounds convincing enough. I don’t really know if I miss him, but I remember I was really happy when we were friends. I have very fond memories of him

<Mer.Mila> good, at least you’re honest with your feelings. how does lunch at the cafeteria, Tuesday at 12 pm sound to you?

<O.Altin> Can’t on Tuesday. Thursday?

<Mer.Mila> done. I’ll bring Yuri, you bring yourself

<O.Altin> I think I can manage that

<Mer.Mila> nice

<Mer.Mila> also you’ll have to buy me lunch

<O.Altin> I knew there had to be a trick here. But okay, at least it won’t be worse than having to house you while your dorm bathroom was being fixed

<O.Altin> And here I thought mermaids were supposed to sing beautifully

<Mer.Mila> hey, you loved living with me, admit it

<Mer.Mila> wait, mermaid?

<O.Altin> Isn’t that what “Mer.Mila” meant? A pun on words between Mermaid and Mila? That’s what you told me

<Mer.Mila> I WAS DRUNK OKAY

<Mer.Mila> CAN’T BLAME SOMEBODY FOR WHAT THEY DO WHILE DRUNK

<Mer.Mila> also mermaids are cool shut up

<O.Altin> I dissent, but well. They are cool, yes

<O.Altin> Hey, mermaid?

<Mer.Mila> yes, asshole?

<O.Altin> Thank you

<Mer.Mila> you’re welcome <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda based Mila's new hair on a pic of a redhead with short ombre hair I saw around. I definitely need to draw her with that, her piercing and her tattoo, because damn she's looking gorgeous every time I imagine her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the last part! Here you have it, what everyone's been waiting for: Yuri and Otabek interacting more than five minutes.
> 
> Bless Mila.

Thursday noon finds Otabek feeling a little on edge about that meeting. He doesn’t know if he’s stressed or scared or nervous or what, exactly. There’s only one thing that stands out, and it’s the sensation this feels more he’s being set up with someone to date them, not to try and see if they can be friends again. It’s way too planned, too structured, and that puts pressure on him.

Still, he leaves class at twelve and walks to the cafeteria trying to not seem too nervous or eager. He’s not really sure of what he’ll get from Yuri, but at least he doesn’t have any expectations.

Mila texts him to tell him she and Yuri are already there, and a few minutes later he’s walking through the doors, inside the big cafeteria, and Mila’s waving at him from a table set on the far end of the dining room, right beside one of the big windows. Just like the last time, Otabek notes.

Greetings are certainly a little awkward, at least between him and Yuri, since neither of them seems to know what’s the right thing to do. Shaking hands is too formal and they feel like they’re past that, but hugging is out of question for being too personal, and those are the only ways of greeting they’re familiar with. Thankfully, Mila instantly butts in and leads them towards the line, while reminding Otabek he’s supposed to pay for her lunch.

“So, vet boy, how are your classes going so far?” she puts herself in charge of starting the conversation, and Otabek’s glad because he wouldn’t have been able to come up with a topic that could include the three of them.

“They’re _hell_ ,” Yuri instantly answers,and then proceeds to explain every reason why waking up so early is gonna make him die young.

Otabek wants to point out how he used to wake up at the crack of dawn with his grandfather when he was a little kid, but doesn’t. In part because it feel like something someone close to Yuri should say, and he’s definitely not that, and in part because he’s afraid he’ll touch a sore spot, since it’s been eight years since he last saw him and Nikolai, and he thinks it’s better to avoid saying anything about the man, just in case he passed away or something like that.

He’s not really participating in Mila and Yuri’s conversation, just nodding and humming from time to time so it doesn’t look like he’s totally disconnected from them. He picks up the names of one or two professors he can recognize, but Veterinary Sciences and Physiotherapy don’t share much more than one first year professor, so it’s not like he can offer an opinion about them.

“First year is the worst, if you think about all the adaptation it takes you,” Mila says between slow spoonfuls of borscht so red it competes with her hair.

Ah well, at least that’s a topic Otabek can take part in.

“Especially when you move to a city you don’t know,” he offers, as casual as he can manage to sound and focusing on his food instead of any of them. “You’re suddenly alone in an unknown place, it’s kind of scary.”

“Yes, exactly,” Mila instantly validates his point, maybe a little too happy he’s finally being part of their interchange of opinions on why college sucks. “Trust us, kid, we’ve been there. We know. Plus, you’re staying at the dorms so you have to learn how to live with strangers around all the time.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Yuri groans, and Otabek can almost hear his eyes rolling. It brings a small, amused smile to his lips. “I’ve only ever lived with grandpa, and now I’m stuck with three noisy idiots who I definitely cannot trust,” he pushes a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and barely chews before swallowing. “I hate people.”

“There should be a box you can tick when you apply for the dorms,” Otabek mentions, and at this point he doesn’t even try to conceal his sense of humor, just vaguely hoping Yuri will get it with his flat tone and straight face. “Do you hate strangers? Yes or No.”

Yuri, thankfully, seems to get it.

“Damn, that would’ve been so useful,” is his instant reply, and he seems to truly believe it.

“Are they really that bad?” Mila butts in, licking her lips reddened by the soup. “I live in the dorms too, have been for the two years I’ve spent here, and the girls I have to share with are pretty nice.”

“The guys’ dorms are messier, and there are lots of them who come without a real purpose to study,” Otabek points out, “So they spend their time bothering the rest of us. I could only spend six months in the dorms before taking my parents up on their offer to rent an apartment. There were even guys who smoked inside and then cooked at three in the morning.”

Yuri groans at his side, and Mila stares at them with a dumbfounded expression.

“At least you could move to an apartment,” Yuri says, frustrated. “I’m stuck there, no money to move anywhere else. Grandpa’s retired and the money he makes can only afford this.”

Otabek doesn’t really know the feeling of being stuck with what he has, but he can understand. He’s always tried to take care of things on his own and not depend on his parents, but he always knew they’d be there to help him if needed be. Yuri doesn’t have that possibility, he doesn’t have options he can choose from. It is what it is, and he has to manage with what he has.

As that thought hits him, he feels words pressing on his tongue, trying to get past his lips. ‘You can come to my house if you need silence’,  ‘my apartment isn’t far’. Something to offer Yuri an alternative, an escape. But this is the first time they’re not feeling uncomfortable around each other and he doesn’t want to ruin that with an out of place comment.

Maybe another time.

“Have you thought about getting a job?” Mila asks him after a short silence. It had crossed Otabek’s mind too.

“Well, yeah, but grandpa is worried it’ll affect my studying, and that’s why I’m here,” by the way he says it, it’s obvious he’s thought about it before. He sounds both bothered and relieved about his grandfather’s opinion. “The sooner I graduate, the sooner I can start working a good job and make my own money. I did work during the summer, though, to save up a little.”

“Did you? Where?” Mila sounds surprised, Otabek just finds it interesting. It would be much like Yuri to get a job so he could alleviate a little of the weight that was always on his grandfather’s shoulders.

Yuri shrugs and disregards Mila’s question with a hand gesture.

“At an ice cream parlor,” he says at the same time. “I worked practically all day, every day, and I got _so_ fed up of ice cream. That’s also the reason why I’m this pale even after summer.”

Now that he says it, Otabek notices Yuri’s as pale as Russian people usually are in winter. He remembers, from their childhood days of running under the summer sun, that he wouldn’t catch a great tan, but at least he wouldn’t reflect the sun while standing outside.

Also, he used to get sunburnt more than tanned.

Mila bursts out laughing and covers her mouth with her hand, earning a growl from Yuri.

“What are you laughing at, hag?”

“I can’t imagine you in customer service, sorry,” Mila bends over the table , still laughing, and it’s kind of contagious because Otabek finds himself laughing softly with her too.

“You too, Otabek?” Yuri demands, “Really?”

“Well, considering you said you hated people maybe twenty minutes ago, yeah,” he admits, offering an apologetic smile that doesn’t look apologetic at all. “It’s funny.”

“Well, that was your great summer working as an ice cream seller,” Mila can’t help a choked laugh at those words, “and I already know you spent your summer with your family with a broken knee--”

“What? Can you break your knee?” Yuri cuts her, frowning. Then turns towards Otabek. “Is that really a thing?”

Otabek clicks his tongue.

“You can break your knee, it has four bones after all. But I did _not_ break my knee,” he spares Mila a pointed look. “I just sprained a ligament playing with my sisters and spent the rest of the summer walking around with crutches.”

“Ouch,” is Yuri’s sympathetic response.

“Yes, ouch indeed,” Otabek agrees.

Mila clears her throat.

“As I was saying- _broken knee_. But you don’t know about _my_ summer. At all.”

She makes a pause then, and Otabek and Yuri go about their business with their respective lunch while they wait for her to continue. The pause becomes a little too long, then Mila clears her throat again and the boys look up at her expectant expression.

Yuri and Otabek share a confused look, the blond stuffing his mouth to avoid any responsibility.

Otabek takes it upon himself to carry on the task that apparently expected from them.

“Well, how did your vacation in Italy go, then?” he asks Mila a moment later. “I forgot to ask last time.”

Mila throws her hands in the air.

“Gods, finally!” she reacts instantly. “Neither of you asked, assholes!” she complains, her blue eyes accusing as she looks at them. “And I even got you gifts.”

“I didn’t know you were going anywhere,” Yuri defends himself, arching an eyebrow at Mila like she’s acting batshit crazy.

She takes her spoon out of her mouth and points at him with it.

“But I told you,” she moves the spoon in the air. “Pay more attention to me, kitten.”

“When?” Yuri snorts, his eyes looking up and eyebrows curving in an exaggerated gesture. “Two months ago?” Yuri asks sarcastically. Mila makes silence.

“... maybe,” she admits.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’ve been _busy_ with college stuff,” he growls, moving his mashed potatoes around the plate with his fork. “You know, handing in papers, moving my stuff to the dorms, does that ring a bell?”

“Okay, okay, you’re forgiven. But _you_ ,” she then points at Otabek with her index finger, her nail that awful matte orange color that she treasures so much even if everyone tells her it’s hideous. “You owe me a dinner.”

Otabek raises his hands and shrugs a little, easily surrendering.

“At my house or out?”

Mila smirks.

“You can’t cook for shit and we both know it, Altin,” she leans back a little on her seat and plays with the straw of her soda, “so you’re taking me out for dinner.”

“Okay, _your majesty_ ,” he mocks her. Then suddenly remembers Yuri’s presence by his left and feels a little uncomfortable because they’re leaving him out now. “I’m asking now, you’ll have to make do with that. I’m guessing you and Sara went a lot to the beach, judging by your skin. If my memory isn’t failing me, you used to be a couple of shades paler than me.”

Mila automatically reaches out and puts her hand right besides his, comparing their skin tones.

“Wow, you’re right,” she says, and she sounds genuinely surprised. “I only had Sara to compare so…” Mila leaves the sentence hanging there, but Otabek doesn’t need her to say anything else. He gets it, Sara’s skin is pretty much a medium brown, various shades darker than his. “I mean, people have told me I’m tanner but now I see how much tanner.”

“You really didn’t notice the difference,” Yuri deadpans, looking like he can’t believe his friend. “Don’t you have tan lines or something,” he doesn’t even bother giving that a question tone.

“Well…”

“You know what, no, if you went to a nudist beach I don’t wanna know,” he cuts her before she can even start. It takes Mila a moment to react to that, and then she starts laughing. Otabek can’t help but laugh silently too, his shoulders shaking.

“We didn’t, god, I just moved my bikini around while sunbathing so I wouldn’t get super contrasting tan lines,” she explains,

“I also pierced my belly button, look!” and then she’s lifting her shirt up, revealing a curved barbell with a tiny, deep blue jewel and a star hanging from a delicate chain. It looks like it’s still in healing process. “Sara picked it for me.”

Otabek, already used to Mila’s antics and energy, barely reacts by raising both eyebrows. Yuri must be used to it too, even after two years of not consistently seeing her, because he barely reacts to the harsh movement.

Otabek’s eyes trail down a little and settle on the string of violets tattooed on her hipbone, that descends until it gets lost under the hem of her jeans and that, Otabek knows, extends down to her inner thigh with a quote from a poem she likes very much but he can’t quite remember right now. Big part of the tattoo stays hidden under her clothes, but Otabek’s seen all of it because Mila’s walked around on her underwear in front of him more times than he can count. He guesses that’s what comes with being the gay friend.

“Wow, it looks so much better in person,” Yuri says. His eyes, much like Otabek’s, have refocused on her tattoo rather than the piercing she’s so excitedly showing them. “The tattoo, I mean. The piercing looks nice too, though I would have gone for something less flashy.”

“Pfft, what do you know about piercings, kitty?” she mocks him, though there’s a sweet undertone to it.

Yuri smiles to the side, looking kind of devious for a moment.

“Oh, I know more than you think, _hag_.”

It barely takes Mila a second to drop her hand over the table with a loud smack that attracts people’s attention to them once again.

“Did you get a piercing _without telling me_!?” she demands, fake offense in her scandalized tone. “How did I not see that? You post everything on your Instagram.”

“Well, have you thought that maybe it wasn’t meant to be seen by everyone?” Yuri asks, teasing, and Otabek feels like he’s getting too much information and that this might be a conversation he’s not meant to hear.

“Oh my god, Yuri,” is all that leaves her mouth before she’s covering it with her hand, laughing behind it.

Mila sits down, laughing, and Otabek barely allows himself to shift around. He’s feeling out of place right now, Yuri and him don’t have that kind of close relationship for him to joke around with potential places where he might have secret piercings.

She seems to catch up to that, because right after she looks at him she’s leaning over the table again, focusing entirely on him.

“Any thoughts on my new piercing, Altin?”

He appreciates the effort to include him in the conversation again. He thinks again, back to the piece of blue and silver jewelry.

“Nice, indeed,” he finally says, even though he’s not that much into piercings. “The color is very similar to your eyes,” Otabek adds a more compromised comment that shows he’s not totally uninterested on Mila’s new body decoration. “I’m not letting you visit that girl anymore, though. She’s a bad influence.”

Mila grins to the side at that, immediately catching onto his joking even when his face is totally straight.

“Oh? But who was the one who suggested I got my tattoo?”

Otabek doesn’t have time to do much more than smirk, before Yuri’s voice interrupts whatever comeback his brain was cooking up.

“ _You_ were the one who came up with the idea?” Yuri looks incredulous, for the first time looking at Otabek with his green eyes clear of any reservation, just curious and a little amazed.

Otabek thinks this is obviously a good sign, and he can’t allow himself to let this opportunity pass.

“Yeah,” he nods, “Ayzere had this phase where she was downright _obsessed_ with flower meanings, and she would tell me about the weirdest things. I just coincidentally remembered about violets,” he doesn’t miss the way Yuri smiles at the mention of his sister’s name.

“Yeah, I can see her doing that,” it’s a light comment, maybe charged with a small tinge of nostalgia but a lot of fondness. Yuri was always just a year older than Ayzere, but he treated her like his own little sister.

Otabek smiles and nods in agreement, but chooses not to dwell on that topic. Maybe someday, he thinks, when he’s sure they can bring back memories of their childhood without making things weird.

“I’m guessing she told you the whole story?” he nods towards Mila, who’s silently but very interestedly watching the exchange while purposefully keeping her mouth occupied with her soda.

“Kind of?” Yuri looks at Mila as he says this, but then goes back to Otabek as casually. “Something about lesbians giving violets to women they were attracted to. Like an old ‘I’m gay for you’ kind of message, right?”

Otabek let’s a side smile tug at the corner of his lips at Yuri’s explanation, and nods.

“Something like that, yeah,” he looks at Mila. “She wanted to piss her father off and I figured a ‘fuck you, I also like women’ tattoo was as good as any other idea.”

Mila almost chokes on her straw.

“And it worked so well, man!” she adds while suppressing a  laugh. “He hates it,” for someone who has such a bad relationship with their father, she sure takes it lightly. Otabek figures it’s better that way. “Anyway, you were the one to suggest a damn _tattoo_ , you’re not allowed to say anything about bad influences.”

“You always said you’d someday get a tattoo, though,” Yuri mutters, faking a whisper while looking to the side innocently.

Mila chunks a piece of bread at him, hitting his braid crown.

“But he wasn’t supposed to know that!”

They all laugh at that. For a moment, it feels for Otabek as if they’re all old friends catching up and reliving past memories together, no tension between them and definitely no eight-year gap between a childhood friendship and his actual whatever with Yuri.

He’s afraid, for a moment, that the awkwardness will return as soon as they stop laughing and realize their joke isn’t enough to keep them all glued together. Then Yuri looks at him still smiling, and his doubts don’t really matter anymore.

They go on talking about Mila’s summer in Italy for a while, about how Yuri thinks he wouldn’t survive the heat, about how Otabek’s parents went there to celebrate their twenty-third anniversary —Yuri’s expression softens again at the sole mention of their names—, about how Sara had actually said Otabek should go visit someday too, and that she probably wouldn’t have a problem with Yuri tagging along. At some point they take the conversation outside, since today’s weather is warm and sunny enough to sit on the grass and enjoy some of the brownies Mila made for this occasion.

When they notice the time, almost two hours have gone by and Mila is hurriedly standing up and shaking the grass from her cream colored, floral printed shorts and her black leggings.

“I’m running late, dammit,” she curses as she hurriedly picks up her bag and hangs it on her shoulder. “I told you to check the time if I forgot!” she groans, but the pout on her gloss-rosy lips makes it clear she isn’t holding anything against them.

“Okay, okay, _sorry_ ,” Yuri says, instantly reacting to Mila’s rushing by helping her pick up her things. “You leave the rest behind, we’ll take care of it. Go away hag, if you sprint you might make it in time.”

“Ah, that’s one of my classmates, at least I won’t be late alone,” Mila’s voice sounds a little relieved, though still in a hurry. She takes a few steps back as she waves them goodbye. “Let’s do this again sometime guys, see you! Hey, Irina, wait!” and then she’s turning around and running towards her classmate, and Otabek and Yuri are suddenly left alone

For a moment, Otabek fears they’ll go back to the awkwardness of their first two meetings, that they’ll fall silent and then make up excuses to each go their own way, and probably deem their relationship insurmountable. Then he blurts out a simple question so casually he surprises even himself.

“How did you end up studying vet?” Yuri looks up at him with his lips sealed against his bottle, signaling he heard him, but he doesn’t stop chugging down water. Otabek can’t help but to go on. “You always said you wanted to be a pro gymnast, did you stop doing that?”

Yuri, always one to demonstrate more than to explain, settles his water bottle down and spreads his legs in a slow split, giving his muscles time to stretch a little since he didn’t do previous stretching, and then he lowers himself until his abdomen and chest are pressed against the grass.

There’s people staring, but he doesn’t care. And truthfully, neither does Otabek. And even if he did, he’d be too preoccupied staring at Yuri’s long legs to even remember to care.  

“What does it look like?” he smirks, knowing full well his flexibility is impressive, to say the least.

“Looks like a ‘don’t make stupid questions’,” he answers truthfully, before he can hold himself back.

Yuri shrugs.

“Basically,” he agrees, and stays in his stretched position a little while more before going back to sitting like a normal person without inhuman flexibility.

“You’ve grown up a lot in all these years,” Otabek can’t help the comment, because he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that Yuri, his little friend Yuri who used to look at him from below, is now almost half a head taller than him.

“Well, so have you,” he rolls his eyes, only now getting to screw the bottle cap on its place. “It _has_ been eight years, after all.”

Otabek frowns, a little disgruntled by Yuri’s antics. He didn’t remember him being so acidic, but then again he met the Yuri from six to eleven years old. He was just as irritable and straightforward back then, though.

“You know what I mean,” he tries not to sound too bothered by that, but he isn’t sure he manages to achieve his goal.

Either way, Yuri seems to catch on to that.

“Don’t be so butthurt because I ended up growing a couple centimeters more than you,” he says, and his words are harsh but his tone isn’t as much. “It was only fair, after all I spent five years looking up to talk to you,” he picks up his bottle and unscrews the cap to take a small sip, then busies himself with screwing it again, eyes away from Otabek’s figure. He’s fidgeting, Otabek notices. Could it be he’s nervous? “To answer your question, no, I didn’t leave gymnastics, and I’d like to keep doing it if I can find somewhere here. But I realized it wasn’t what I wanted to do for a living, just a hobby, and keeping it as just that sounds nice.”

Otabek hums, nodding his head. He’s not always the most talkative person, to the point where getting used to talking to his family through the phone became a challenge during the initial months, before he got accustomed to at least hum instead of just trying to communicate through gestures and expressions that could not be seen.

“Sounds logical,” still, when talking to stranger he generally makes an effort to give his interlocutor some retribution. Right now, he isn’t sure what Yuri classifies as, but he’s definitely not a friend. Not anymore; he’d like to think they’ll recover the friendship status they used to have, but he’s still not sure of how he feels about Yuri. “And why vet?” he repeats his first question, hoping to keep the conversation going long enough.

“Well, during the last year of high school we had this visit to a uni in Moscow, to this expo about careers, and I thought I’d try veterinary,” Yuri keeps playing around with things between his fingers; the cap of his bottle, the box where Mila brought her brownies, a napkin ready to be discarded, his phone. “And if you’re curious, I ended up here instead of some Moscow uni because I applied for scholarships everywhere I could and this was the best option between the two I was offered, economy-wise.”

Otabek nods again.

“That makes sense,” he offers. And it does, of course he understands the reasoning behind Yuri’s presence in St. Petersburg, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

The dreaded silence comes, finally. It settles over them like a thick blanket, smothering them slowly, but it’s not as uncomfortable as it had been in previous opportunities. Otabek silently wonders if that can be counted as an advance.

“Well, I guess I should get going too,” Yuri says after a couple of minutes spent looking at his phone screen. “I still have to pick a book up from the library and get to class early to get a good spot. Everyone loves this professor.”

“Yeah, I should study now that I still have time,” he offers his own reason to leave, so Yuri doesn’t feel bad about being the one escaping their moment alone. He’s not sure he’d feel bad, though.

Still.

They get up lazily, not really in a hurry. Otabek stays quiet and simply picks everything up. He doesn’t have afternoon class today, so he’s in no hurry to get anywhere. Yuri, on the other hand, has class in approximately twenty-five minutes.

For a short lived moment he wishes he had class now, because that would mean spending some more time with Yuri as they make their way to their shared building, even if they don’t really talk.

He surprises himself with his own thoughts.

As Yuri and he say their goodbyes, Otabek finally realizes his past friendship with Yuri isn’t absolutely lost. They managed to talk normally and even joke a little, and even though they felt like strangers to each other several times, they also showed signs of closeness. They still get each other, maybe not as if they were still friends, but there’s a basic comprehension of how the other acts and thinks. He wants to relax around Yuri, joke with him, even though that clashes with the feeling of being talking to a stranger. He likes him, likes his company and being with him, because of the valuable, happy memories together if nothing else. Deep inside Otabek still feels close to him in some way, because there was a time in their lives they were so united their bond was strong as diamond. That’s not something time can totally wear off, no matter how many years pass. Not for them, at least.

Otabek wants to be Yuri’s friend again.

That realization, sudden but not at all surprising, pushes him to call Yuri’s name before he can take more than a few steps away from him.

“Hey, Yuri!” Otabek pauses for the smallest moment, doubting, but pushes himself to finish now that Yuri’s turned around and is standing there, barely a meter away, waiting. “Maybe we could have a coffee and catch up someday?”

He hopes it didn’t come off as forced as he felt it, suddenly nervous. Yuri looks at him for a second, like he wasn’t expecting such a proposition, and while his silence lasts Otabek’s heart shrinks because dammit, maybe it was too soon to ask something like that. But then Yuri smiles, an actual, real smile that makes those little dips at the corners of his lips appear, and Otabek knows that no, it wasn’t too soon. It was just the right time. 

“Sure,” Yuri agrees, tucking a strand of golden hair behind his ear, “I’d love that.” 

Otabek watches him turn around and sprint towards the A building without another word.

They’ll get there, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is!
> 
> I’ll be honest, I didn’t have time to do a lot of research about college life in Russia so I just used a mix of whatever things I picked up from pictures and what little I could find on the internet, USA colleges (from movies!) and my own college experience here in Argentina. Hope it wasn’t too distant from reality.
> 
> I hope you liked our submission, please come check our blogs @ [Lin's](https://linni-t.tumblr.com/) and [yours truly's](http://kirinvlinder.tumblr.com/) tumblr.


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